Time To Feed
by Mystic Dodo
Summary: The Dementors were hungry, so very hungry. The moans of despair, cries of anguish and screams of torment were not enough anymore.


**The Dementor**

**Author: **Mystic Dodo**  
**

**Originally Published: **2008

* * *

Cold.

Black.

Hungry.

The black cloak billowed around the skeletal form. The flimsy thing - ripped, old, decaying - didn't save any feeble hints of warmth. Even if it did, it was unable to be felt. It was cold, constantly cold.

There were moans of despair; cries of anguish; screams of torment.

It needed new meat. It needed new emotions to feed off.

These... _humans..._ their positive feelings had been sucked dry. There was nothing left to take. Nothing left to feed. It was growing hungry. _Fresh meet... _It must have been so long, far too long, since it had a fresh soul to devour and untainted human emotions to relish. The Dark Lord's lack of activity ensured that there were fewer criminals to be thrown into the Cells of Azkaban.

All thanks to that damned Boy Who Lived.

The Dementors knew who he was. They knew who The Boy Who Lived was. After all, he stopped their food source. They knew Albus Dumbledore. They knew Minister Fudge. They vaguely remember a Sirius Black, the only one that had managed to escape from their clutches. Everyone else... they were a faded mark. It didn't matter who they were – as long as they proved the emotions, the food, the source to grow power, what did it matter?

It glided along the damp, smelly, dimly lit corridors of the Prison, reaching out decaying hands, thin as sticks, to stop it from colliding with anything, be it a wall or another Dementor or – if it could hope – a new prisoner. It was _empty. _The emotions fed it, filled the emptiness inside. It was getting restless. _When could it next feed?_

It sensed another Dementor, and they silently glided past each other. No doubt others were feeling the same; the same hunger; the same anger; the same impulsiveness.

Passing a prisoner cell, the Dementor froze. This inmate... they felt hopeful; but not for much longer. Reaching out a dead looking hand, it stopped inches from the cackling prisoner's face. It began to suck out the little emotion.

Thoughts from the inmate (a woman?) floated in its head, disjointed, mad, and gleeful. _Dark Lord... Master... back! Burning mark... freedom... revenge!_ The Dementor gathered the positive feelings, and the emptiness shifted away in the smallest amount.

It wasn't good. It just made it was to feed _more. _There needed to be more crime. There needed to be more offense.

Like the Dark Lord had caused.

He didn't confine them, the Dementors, the foulest things to ever roam the Earth, to a prison. He allowed them to wonder freely, sucking the souls of who they pleased, no matter what. There was so many measly humans out there... happy, hopeful, joyous... why should it be stuck inside a prison with humans that no longer fed them?

The Dementors caused fear into others. They were their own superior boss, before getting made to guard a prison, with _promises _of regular food. It had been good. They had gotton their feed. But the last ten years... _the last ten years_... there had been barely anything. The feast at the Wizarding School Dumbledore ran; that was the closest the Dementors came to ever feeling 'happy', if such a taboo ever existed.

The excitement... the happiness... the _joy_ of that Wizarding Game...

It needed it. It needed to feed.

Voldemort is back? Then it would join him. Be free from this prison, where it didn't feed. Feed on free humans. Feast on their optimism. Be the terrifying creature that it was claimed to be.

No more the working servant of the Minister. No more days, weeks, months, years without feeding. Freedom. Free to cause terror to any and all. Free to eat whenever!

The Dementor sensed its way back towards the main area of Azkaban. If it could feel hope, excitement, it would. No. All it could feel was a sense of longing, a need to express to its fellow kind of its idea. Dementors were selfish creatures, wanting all to themselves. But it would show the Minister of Magic, Fudge that they _needed_ to feed. It would teach him for losing them. Them, the powerful Dementors.

The inmates would be free; able to escape to join their Dark Lord... and be able to cause terror. The World will be in a panic, emotions running high.

The Dementors' gaping hole on its face opened wider, as though already tasting it. _Delicious. _

A day later, Azkaban had a mass breakout. As the Dementors flew towards where the Dark Lord was hiding, all had the same though, same desire, as each other. _Time to feed. _


End file.
